


The Movie of Death

by mpatientdreamr



Category: New Girl
Genre: Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpatientdreamr/pseuds/mpatientdreamr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is Nick's life even?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Movie of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Written before The Story of the 50 (1x10) aired.

There were days when Nick hated his job. Any time there was a convention near the bar was one of those days. _Today_ had been one of those days. So all he wanted to do was sleep for a day, get up, and eat fruit loops in his boxers in front of the TV, rinse and repeat until he had to go back to work. Opening his front door, he knew immediately that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

Jess was curled up on the couch patting Coach’s back as he told her what was obviously a sad story, “…AND THEN SHE _LEFT_!”

And Jess only flinched because he’d bellowed it right into her ear, not because she was afraid of the big man trying to curl up in her lap like the world’s weepiest kitten. That was one of the things that really set Jess apart from other women. (Besides her willingness to sing a jaunty ode about the marvel that was French toast at five o’clock in the morning. _Loudly_. Regardless of roommates that had had to work late the night before.) Jess was just a very caring, understanding person who never met a stranger.

Of course, right _now_ she was making panicked, ‘Help me, Help me! Now, not later!’ gestures as Coach wept into the side of her neck. Thankfully, Nick didn’t think of himself as a good person, so he started to creep towards his room. As long as Coach didn’t see him, he was golden.

Jess could see him, though, and she narrowed her eyes at him, managing to look about as fierce as a newborn unicorn.

“You know what always makes me feel better after a breakup?” she asked sweetly. “Watching Dirty Dancing and letting it all out.”

“No!” Nick shouted on reflex. 

He realized that he’d had an echo and turned to see Schmidt hanging out of his bedroom door, wild-eyed and terrified. Coach was whimpering and Nick was pretty sure it wasn’t from his recent breakup. Forget sweet, Jess was _evil_.

“ _What_ do you people have against Dirty Dancing?” Winston asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway of his bedroom. Nick was a little gratified to find that Winston and Schmidt weren’t good people, either. “I _love_ Dirty Dancing.”

“You wouldn’t if you watched it for _days_ ,” Nick hissed, a shiver of fear creeping down his spine. He couldn’t live through that again.

“Winston, put in the movie,” Jess commanded. Coach blinked, obviously having already fallen into the fugue. She ran her hand over his shiny dome and Coach’s eyes clear, then went a little mushy as he put his head on her shoulder.

Nick knew better than to fight it, collapsing onto the couch beside Coach. Schmidt grimaced but joined them as Winston popped in the DVD, humming what sounded suspiciously like Time of My Life.

*** *** ***

Two and a half miserable hours later…

“…and then I was stuck in _Latvia_!” Winston wailed.

Jess sniffled, patting his knee, and Nick wanted to die. He was already in hell; death honestly couldn’t be that much worse.

Schmidt let a gaspy sob and said, “I love you people.”

Nick contemplated the extension cord the TV was plugged into. If he could find something high enough that was held together by spackle and superglue, it’d all have a nice irony to it. Death by television any way you looked at it.

“I feel so much better,” Coach mumbled and Nick was pretty sure that was because he’d fallen asleep across Jess’s lap halfway through the movie and slept through the worst of the sob stories.

“Jess, can I see you for a second?” he said, standing, pulling her out of the puppy pile, through the kitchen, and into his bedroom before anyone could muster a complaint.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, blinking through eyes ringed with ruined mascara. She’d held out until the last dance scene, then she was singing and sobbing at the same time.

“Three of the mostly dudely guys I know are in my living room crying,” he said, fighting the urge to get mad.

“Dirty Dancing is an incredibly moving movie,” she said, getting a little defensive and a little weepy.

“Jess, it’s an ‘80’s chick flick!” he shouted, arms flailing. He took a deep breath and said, “What are you going to do to make them stop?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” she said, dancing from foot to foot.

He pursed his lips, studying her, then came to a decision. “I’m not leaving this room until either you can promise me that they’ve stopped crying or until I have to go to work.”

“Nick!” she gasped, grabbing his shirt. “I can’t spend all weekend crying! Class pictures are on Monday!”

“Then make them stop!” he said, leaning into her.

“I don’t know how!” she said, tugging his shirt and he winced as she caught chest hairs. “I don’t understand boy emotions!”

He caught her elbows to keep her from committing further follicle abuse, then sighed. Damn her pretty blue eyes. Nick yanked open the door and the guys fell in Three Stooges-style.

They looked up, surprised, then Schmidt nudged Winston in the hip and said, “I told you they weren’t kissing.”

Jess squeaked and Nick rolled his eyes, stabbing a finger at them when they scrambled to the feet. “No more crying. From now on, nobody gets more than 30 minutes of public crying time before they have to start putting money in the Weeper Jar. 20 dollars every 30 minutes.” Jess gasped, horrified, but he rolled on, “And no more spying on me and Jess. If it happens behind closed doors, it’s none of your business.”

Fortunately they’d backed out the door because he got to slam it and end a strong note.

He looked down when Jess poked his chest to get his attention. She stared up at him and, if possible, her eyes were bigger than he’d ever seen them.

Nick sighed, cupping her cheeks, thumb idly swiping at mascara as he studied her face, then he bent to kiss her. And _that_ was all he needed to have a great weekend.  
 


End file.
